Chapter 14 In Sunlight
FIONA PICKED UP her cup now and then, sipping at the ale as she sorted through her wool, finally selecting the right shade of grey.
She didn’t wish to admit it, but the drink was delicious, and indeed welcome.
There wasn’t the slightest breeze this afternoon, and it was oppressively hot inside the chamber, especially with the sun streaming in.
The sunlight was excellent to work by, but her lèine and kirtle felt tight and constraining against her sweaty skin.
Moving back to her loom, she wound the grey yarn onto a fresh bobbin, her fingers working quickly from habit.
Once it was full, she slid it into the shuttle and set her feet to the treadles.
Carefully, she sent the shuttle skimming through the taut warp threads, the wood gliding smoothly back and forth.
Sliding the weft into place, she pressed it firmly against the rows below with the beater, feeling the steady rhythm of the loom settle her thoughts. She then glanced over at her visitor.
Ailean had been silent for a while, and although the hush between them was oddly companionable, she wondered what he was thinking. Her heart kicked when she found him observing her, his gaze hooded now.
She wished he wouldn’t look at her like that.
She cleared her throat. “Yer hair is damp. Have ye been swimming?”
“Aye,” he replied with a smile. “It was needed after a day of repairing the granary wall in the village.”
“So, ye’re still working down there, then?”
He nodded. “Although not for much longer.” He pulled a face. “My father disapproves.”
Fiona paused in guiding the shuttle through the warp. “Really? Why?”
“He thinks I’m trying to escape more important duties.”
“And are ye?”
Ailean sighed. “I am, if I’m honest. I’m not the man my father wants me to be. And the harder he pushes, the more I want to prove him right.”
Fiona inclined her head. His admission surprised her.
It made her feel an odd kinship toward him.
“I know what that’s like,” she admitted softly.
“I’ve always felt like I was a disappointment to my parents …
my mother especially. It didn’t matter how hard I worked or what I achieved.
I was always lacking in some way.” She paused, surprised at her own candor, but she wasn’t done yet.
“And when I left, there was a part of me that enjoyed flinging it in her face. She told me I’d amount to nothing …
that I’d come crawling back to Craignure when my dreams came crashing down.
” Determination hardened in her belly. Her fingers tightened around the shuttle.
“But I won’t. I made that decision a while ago.
Even if my life here went up in flames, I’d never go back. ”
“So, ye’re a proud one?” Ailean replied, “We have that in common, I think.”
She huffed a laugh, focusing on her weaving once more. Nonetheless, his words made warmth suffuse her chest. She liked the thought of them sharing things, of understanding each other.
“Don’t ye want to be laird?” she asked.
It was a bold question, but she couldn’t help herself.
Whenever she had the opportunity to talk to this man, curiosity bubbled up.
They’d spoken at length on the eve of Bealtunn before they’d stolen away together, and he’d revealed his frustrations.
And now that he was sitting just a few feet from her, nursing that cup of ale, one booted ankle resting on his knee, she had the chance to dig a little deeper.
It was an opportunity she’d make the most of.
Remember yer place, lass, a voice not unlike her mother’s whispered. Don’t fool yerself into thinking he sees ye as his equal.
Irritation surged, and she shoved the voice aside. She would enjoy his company for what it was. For a short while, they could simply be two people—a man and a woman—sharing time together.
“Not really, if I’m honest,” he replied.
“But I’ve always known the responsibility would fall to me one day.
I accept it. It’s just that father and son working so closely together isn’t always wise.
We were bound to clash.” He glanced to the open window, eyes unfocused.
“Maybe I should leave. Go back to the mainland. Seek out Andrew Murray and see if he needs me to swing my sword again.”
She inclined her head. “But I thought things were peaceful now?”
He grimaced. “Peace never lasts. Ye must know that.”
She nodded reluctantly and returned her attention to the loom. Best not to look at him. Her hands moved rhythmically, passing the shuttle and pressing the weft carefully with the beater.
“The tapestry is taking shape,” he said after a stretch of silence.
She smiled, her gaze traveling over the bottom portion, to the rocks and sea, and where the castle’s massive curtain wall now rose against the sky.
“I have a long way to go yet.” She shrugged then.
“With Arabella’s assistance—she passes me the threads and keeps the warp organized—I work faster than I am today. ”
“Can I help?”
She startled before recovering swiftly. “Ye mocked Rowan for showing interest in weaving,” she reminded him archly. “And now, ye wish to assist me?”
“That was because I didn’t want him paying ye any visits,” he replied with a half-smile.
And then, before she could reply, he drained his ale, set the cup aside, and rose. A few strides brought him to her side. He lowered himself onto the stool beside her. “Go on … give me some instruction.”
Dizziness assailed Fiona. She motioned to the loom. “Ye can help me beat the weft.”
“Show me how.”
She hesitated. They had to touch for her to do that.
Silence spooled between them before she nodded.
“Like this.” Warmth shot up her arm as her fingers slid over his, steadying his wrist on the wooden bar of the beater.
His scent—leather, salt, warm male—wrapped around her.
She swallowed hard and focused on showing him how to pull the frame toward him.
“As soon as I’ve passed the shuttle through, ye draw it in like this. ”
He nodded, repeating the action as she’d shown him.
“So.” She cleared her throat. “Do ye think ye’ve got the hang of it?”
“I think so.” His voice was a low rumble, sending a shiver down her spine.
This is ill-advised.
She shoved the warning aside.
There was no harm in this, surely?
They worked together, the loom clacking steadily as she peddled the treadles and sent the shuttle skimming through the shed.
Each time he pulled the beater forward, the threads tightened into place.
At times they brushed—his arm grazing hers, his fingers deft and sure. Concentration became difficult.
“I like spending time with ye, Fi,” he said quietly.
She glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at her—only at her hands. “Why is that?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so breathless. So hopeful.
“When I’m with ye,” he murmured, “every moment has more color … and yet, it’s all done with too soon.”
Her pulse fluttered. His words were heady. Dangerous.
“Maybe lust does that,” she said carefully.
He huffed a laugh. “Maybe. But I like who I am when I’m with ye.”
Her throat tightened. “Really? It scares me … what I become when we are together.”
“And what’s that?” His voice held a husky edge now.
She swallowed. “Ye make me … reckless.”
His mouth curved. “I do?”
Awareness pulsed between them, and excitement swooped like a diving goshawk inside her. His question was a challenge, and she found herself rising to it.
Her pulse started to thunder in her ears as she turned to him. “Aye … like right now. I should be sending ye away. And all I can think about is kissing ye.”
He gave her a slow smile that made her pulse leap. “I won’t stop ye.”
“I know … and that’s the problem.” But it was too late. She’d already turned, already leaned into him.
Her lips pressed against his. A heartbeat later, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close. His lips parted for her, a groan rumbling in his chest.
Mother Mary—she was a fool.
Ailean kissed her back with equal passion, growing rougher. Almost savage. Heat surged. She whimpered into his mouth. This thing between them was too powerful; a great wave she couldn’t stop.
“Ailean,” she gasped as his lips seared a hot line down her neck. “I want ye.”
He cursed under his breath. An instant later, he rose to his feet, bringing her with him. He then turned her away, pressing her face down over the table, hiking up her skirts, and baring her body to his hungry gaze. His fingers stroked the curve of her arse, reverent and sure.
“Christ,” he groaned. “In moonlight, ye are bonnie indeed … in sunlight, ye are a goddess.”
She shivered. Heat pulsed between her thighs at the knowledge she was exposing herself utterly to him. She didn’t care. She ached for more.
Gasping, she spread herself wider. “Please. I need ye.”
He made a soft choking sound, and then his fingers slid between her thighs, to where she was already helplessly wet for him.
And there, he began to stroke and circle. Slow. Sensual.
Fiona bit down on her lower lip. She couldn’t start making a lot of noise. The walls were thick, but that didn’t mean sound didn’t travel, especially since the window was uncovered. Anyone passing in the barmkin below might hear if she started crying out and urging him on.
She had the presence of mind enough to know that, but not enough to stop this folly.
Instead, she undulated her hips, grinding herself against his touch.
And then, he slid a long finger inside her. She gasped, pushing back against him.
Moments later, he’d inserted a second finger—and then a third. Stretching her.
Fiona gave a low, needy moan.
He was slowly unravelling her, as if she were a tight ball of yarn.
And this was so good. She couldn’t believe he was focusing entirely on her pleasure right now. She’d thought he’d unlace his braies and plunge into her, but instead, he was pleasuring her with his hands—those wicked, wonderful hands.
And then, as pleasure coiled and tightened in her womb, he bent the three fingers he had inside her downward, stroking a place she didn’t even know existed in her core.
A spot that, when touched, sent her over the edge.
Pleasure exploded, pulsing out as liquid heat gushed through her loins.
She bit hard once more on her lower lip, hard enough to taste blood, but she didn’t care.
This was incredible. She was spinning. She didn’t know what he'd just done, but he’d managed to wring every ounce of pleasure from her climax.
Shuddering and panting, she collapsed, her cheek hitting the warm, smooth tabletop, as her pulse pounded in her ears.
The room seemed to be rotating, and the feel of the warm air feathering across her naked skin only heightened the excitement of what they’d just done. She was breathing hard, the sound ragged, but she realized he was too.
Eventually, she pushed herself up on shaky arms and managed to stand, her skirts sliding down to cover her modesty. She turned to him then, leaning against the table for support.
And he was watching her with a look that made her breathing quicken once more, made her belly melt. His chest rose and fell shallowly, and when her gaze drifted down, she saw that his braies were massively tented. A damp patch now stained the material.
Swallowing, as wild need quickened within her once more, she reached out, intending to unlace his braies and release his rod from its prison. She wanted to go down on her knees before him, for him to teach her how to pleasure him with her hands, lips, and tongue.
However, he caught her by the wrist, stilling her. “No lass,” he said, his voice strained. “I told ye I wouldn’t take advantage … I’ve already just made myself a liar. Let’s stop while we can.”
Their gazes fused then, holding fast for a few long moments.
And then, he smiled and stepped in close. Reaching up, he cupped her face with one hand before leaning in for a slow, sensual kiss.
When he drew back, it took all her will not to reach for him.
“I should leave before I lose what’s left of my self-control,” he said huskily. “But know this: ye are lovely, Fiona Mackinnon. What I wouldn’t give to have ye for one night in my bed … for us to be able to take our time.”